


1. Stabbed

by SuikoKitten



Series: 31 Days Of Whump and Hurt/Comfort [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, One-Shot, Sherstrade implied but it can be read as gen, brief - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuikoKitten/pseuds/SuikoKitten
Summary: Rain.  A little too much to drink and too many things to think about.  A detective inspector getting stabbed multiple times. You know, the usual.In all seriousness, here is the summary: Greg Lestrade gets stabbed on a rainy night and there are feelings.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: 31 Days Of Whump and Hurt/Comfort [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971688
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	1. Stabbed

It was raining and it was cold in London that night. Greg Lestrade was used to it- this was his home, after all- but it was still miserable. He trudged toward his flat with his chin tucked into the collar of his coat and his hands shoved into his pockets. Ordinarily, he would have been paying attention- or so he liked to tell himself- but tonight, he simply wasn’t. 

He was preoccupied with the cold rain pelting him and with the case he had been working all week. The case was the sort of homicide that Sherlock deemed beneath him, which would have been fine, if Lestrade hadn’t been hitting dead ends everywhere he turned in his investigation. He didn’t realize that he was about to make said case much more interesting for his wayward private investigator as he made his way across town from his favorite pub- it would have been irresponsible to drive after drinking and he didn’t feel like paying for a cab- to his flat. The miserably cold droplets running down his face felt like a penance for his failure. 

He hadn’t realized just yet that one of his dead end leads had been something much more lucrative. He didn’t realize it until a pair of burly hands latched onto his shoulders and slammed him against the cold stone wall of an apartment building. 

“Oy-!” And that single syllable of protest was all Lestrade could get out before something was shoved into his stomach and twisted. 

The force of the attack stole his breath away and yet it still took him much longer than it should have for him to realize what had just happened. His assailant pulled away, ripping the offending pressure back out of Lestrade’s abdomen with a step back to admire his handiwork. Lestrade dropped to his knees with a gasp as fire ignited in his stomach. Something warm and wet was pouring out of his abdomen at an alarming rate. Instinctively, he pressed a hand against the wound as the world spun around him. 

“He’s not down yet…” The man complained to someone else as Lestrade tried to process what had just happened. 

“Wh-?” Lestrade couldn’t help but vocalize some of his confusion. 

“Stab him again. Finish him off and make sure you steal his wallet. Make it look like a robbery, mate!” 

Lestrade let himself fall onto his side and hoped that his assailants would leave him to die. He wasn’t in bad enough shape that he thought he would be unable to use his cell to call for an ambulance if they left him alone now. Putting himself in that prone position proved to be a mistake, unfortunately. Someone came up from his right and started digging through his pockets. Lestrade’s cell phone was tossed across the street into a dark alley. It was out of his reach now and there was no hope for him to get his hands back on it and he was now unable to pull himself back up off his side to fight back or try to stumble away for help. 

“Maybe your colleagues will think twice before sticking their noses where they don’t belong next time, Detective Inspector.” The second man said with a sneer. “Too bad you won’t get a chance to learn from this.” 

Lestrade quickly came to the conclusion that these men had something to do with the only case Lestrade had that was still unsolved. It seemed he had been on the right track about that murder after all. 

Distracted again- more easily this time, what with all the bloodloss- Lestrade didn’t realize that he was about to be stabbed again until the knife had pierced his chest. He yelped in an embarrassingly pitiful manner, but that didn’t stop them from stabbing him a third time. This time, Lestrade put his hands up to try and catch the hand that was bringing the knife down on him, but it was to no avail. His hands were easily knocked aside and the knife sunk down into his flesh with a sickening thunk. 

As the knife was pulled out of his torso a third time, his assailants rolled him over onto his stomach to allow gravity to finish him off as they vacated the premises, careful to take the murder weapon with them. Lestrade could  _ feel _ the life draining out of him with every drop of blood that spilled from his wounds into the cold, drenched streets. He groaned as he tried to pull himself up and onto his knees, but he couldn’t muster up the strength. He rested his cheek against the rough sidewalk and was just aware enough to be grateful that he wasn’t in a ditch or he would be drowning instead of bleeding to death. 

“Greg?!” A familiar voice exclaimed- it was so close to him, but how was that possible? When had someone else gotten close enough to him to- 

“Good God, Greg. You’re gonna be alright, mate. Just hold on for me, okay? We’re calling an ambulance-” 

A woman spoke next, but Lestrade was too busy grunting in agony as he was rolled over onto his back. The rain drenched his face and he almost felt like he was drowning in the constant rivulets of water pouring out of the sky down on London. Then, an umbrella was positioned over him, stopping the flow of water into his eyes, nose, and mouth. 

“John…?” Lestrade’s gravelly voice was nothing more than a breathy whisper and he was promptly shushed. 

“Just sit tight. I’m going to put pressure on your wounds to slow the bleeding down. Can you tell us what happened? Mary, when will the ambulance get here?” 

“Soon. Just hold on, Inspector Lestrade. Help will be here soon.” Mary promised as she knelt beside him and John, sheltering them both from the rain with her umbrella. 

Sometime after Mary’s reassuring words and John’s firm hands pressing a coat against his wounds, Lestrade lost consciousness. The next time he awoke, it was to a sterile-smelling and dry room with white tiles, white walls, and a gridded, white ceiling above his head. 

“John…?” Lestrade whispered as loudly as he could manage through the discomfort of the cottony dryness of his throat. “Wh-” He paused. “What happened?” 

“You were stabbed. I assumed you would have noticed it as it was happening,” came a rather insensitive remark from an incredibly insensitive man, but Lestrade was so happy to hear that voice nevertheless. 

“Sherlock. We’re in hospital? Who’s handling the case? They have to know; this wasn’t a robbery, no matter what it looks like-” 

John closed the door behind him as he returned to the room. “Did you know them or something?” 

“No.” Lestrade coughed. “They said something about learning not to stick my nose into other people’s business. I think it’s the Nielsen case.” John brought a cup of water up to Lestrade’s lips with a straw in it so he could carefully sip at it. 

“Just relax for right now, Greg. Let me get the nurse.” 

“But-” 

“Shhh.” Sherlock admonished him as John stood up to poke his head out the door to call for a nurse to come over. 

Sherlock sounded condescending as per usual, but there was something about the look on his face. It was written on his face: guilt and anger. Was this for him? Lestrade’s chest warmed just a bit at the thought that maybe, just maybe, Sherlock actually did care about him, even if this was a terrible way to get confirmation that the surly investigator really did care. 

It was difficult to be friends with Sherlock Holmes most of the time. His means of expressing affection bordered on- and sometimes crossed the line into- abuse. His compliments are backhanded insults. God help him, Lestrade didn’t really care about that. He loved Sherlock Holmes fully and undeniably. He would leap into a burning house and more for this man. 

Sometimes, it helped to be reminded that Sherlock might just be willing to do the same for him. 


End file.
